


Muscle Memory

by InnerSpectrum



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: mystrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-22
Updated: 2019-02-22
Packaged: 2019-11-04 00:38:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17888189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InnerSpectrum/pseuds/InnerSpectrum
Summary: Two men -  Both thinking of the last time they saw each other. One in an office after a rough day, the other on a rooftop with a rifle looking at him through the scope.





	Muscle Memory

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Iolanfg](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iolanfg/gifts).



The black-suit worn under a black mid length driving coat, both bespoke that fit his tall frame to perfection. The black leather gloves that covered his long elegant fingers with precision and reached exactly to his wrist were soft and yet durable. All you could see of him was his face. The pale complexion that stood out against the deep ginger of his hair and thick horseshoe mustache.

He was in a word - dark elegance. Yes, that is technically two words. Still, had you seen you would agree. Then again, it is a moot point for you will never see him – and that is the point. No one knew he was back in the country. He planned on keeping it that way for the next couple of days. The government was just going to have to learn how to make do for a bit longer. It carried on well enough before he grasped it with a brilliant mind and an iron fist. He had no illusions about it continuing on without him, perhaps not as well, but continuing nonetheless. He only wanted one person to know he was back and that was why he stood on the roof. He knew he was showing off, there were easier ways, but not as intriguing - he earned this.

He stood near the ledge of the rooftop. His cool slate eyes carefully drift surveying the surrounds. Eyes as grey as the overcast skies above him. He sees various flags snapping and unfurling. He knows by sight alone the winds that whipped at the material was coming north-northeast at roughly 13 kilometers per hour. He gives a small tight huff. Not even enough to mist the cool air around him.

Days with heavy winds were an aggravation sometimes, but never anything he could not work around. This would be easy.

Strong legs stood slightly akimbo, other than his eyes, his solid body does not move. Yet, the sense of imminent action is felt. It is akin to seeing a coiled snake you know is about to strike any second.

You realize it is a very just description when he snaps into action.

Vertical limbs suddenly horizontal as he drops to the blanket on the graveled rooftop. His body was once used to the maneuver, it has been a very long time since such was required of him. Still, his body gave only the slightest protest, the Dragunov sniper rifle in hand, a cool eye peering through the cross-hairs of the scope as though it were yesterday, not yester-decade.

He looked at his target through the rifle sight. For a disconcerting moment he had the impression of having been seen by warm brown eyes when the target glanced out of the open window behind his desk. The target appeared oh so morose as he ran a hand through the silver spikes of his hair.

The man’s hand itched a little in the memory of how those silver hairs felt under his fingers when he last grasped them as he took his pleasures of the pliant body beneath him. It felt like forever ago.

The target sighed into the dreary day and turned back around to his work.

The man stared through the scope of a rifle as his finger made its way to the trigger without him giving it thought knowing the office will soon be the last thing on the target’s mind.

Muscle memory is a beautiful thing.

\+ + + + + + + + + +

It was a day of frustration from the moment his warm brown eyes opened. Nothing like being awakened to investigate a triple homicide at half three in the morning. A triple homicide involving someone very high up the food chain, her husband and six-year-old son. It was a nightmare. He sat at his desk fourteen hours after that initial call he was done. The only good thing out of it was that the killer and accomplice were arrested a couple of hours ago. Granted it was with the assistance of the world’s only consulting detective who had rated the crime a 9.5 in his scale of importance because of the child. No one has ever been able to really put their finger on why the loss of a child always garners such emotion, it just does. The sight of the little boy... that was going to haunt his sleep for a while.

Regrettably, it was not enough to stop his partner, whose animosity was well known, and the consulting detective from bickering like two children. He had a headache of massive proportions by the time he sent the consulting detective home first, then his partner an hour later. The headache was the only reason he was still in his office. He needed time for the medication to kick in before he thought about dealing with traffic for the ride home.

Being in the victim’s luxurious home had reminded him of the stately elegance of his lover’s home. That thought had been a mistake.

Since then thoughts of his lover continued to slip into his mind. Thoughts of him – the last time they were together – how good it was, before he walked out the door.

He sat chastising himself for the thoughts once again taking over his psyche. He turned in his chair and looked out at the slate afternoon for a moment, once again wondering where he might be out there in the world.

Tall and rugged, an athletic build that has only gone slightly soft with age, he ran a rough hand through his silver spiked hair in frustration - accidentally gave it a slight pull. And oh, didn’t that bring back erotic memories of how devastatingly he was taken apart under those long pale elegant and talented fingers!

He sighed as he turned back to his desk and looked at the paperwork that was not going to get itself done, but he could not care less for it was not going to get done today.

He almost missed it.

The whisper of soft air that zipped by him as he yawned. It was the thunk as something hit the small trophy that sat on the corner of his desk, knocking it to the floor that caught his attention. Instinct alone made him freeze in place and let his eyes scan the office.

He waited, his knuckles white as he gripped the arms of his chair tightly. The breath he did not know he held rushed out in great relief as another trophy on the other side of the desk, placed there for that purpose also toppled over.

He grinned as he slowly stood and walked to the window with his phone as it buzzed.

Hello. - Unknown number

Show off! - GL

True. - Unknown number

Incommunicado? – GL

Incommunicado. - Unknown number

Same place as before? – GL

Same place as before. – Unknown number

An hour and you’re in deep. – GL

The phone rang in his hand and he grinned imagining his lover out there wanting him to hurry to their appointed place when they both wanted to disappear from the world for a couple of days. It had been nearly a month since they last saw each other, it felt like forever.

“Gregory Lestrade sex god to the ginger and mysterious and insanely brilliant.”

“Oh, Sex God, how your devotee misses you! I need you in me – 45 minutes.” Mycroft’s smooth voice filled with want came on the line and then rang out. 

Gregory was out the door minutes later.

He was _in_ 40 minutes after.

Muscle memory is a beautiful thing.

**Author's Note:**

> I fully blame Iolanfg and this image for the post  
> 


End file.
